Suggestions
by Evil Cowplant
Summary: The First Family's feelings have been bottled up for too long behind a flimsy facade of perfection. What if something happens before they can be let out? Rated T for language because typical teenagers talk trash too.
1. Losing Focus

Eleven o'clock on the dot. Dickie and Kelly were long gone, Jim was on his way home, and Vince was just heading out. Mackenzie, on the other hand, was still in her office, poring over the last of that day's work, which still meant she would be there for another half hour… at the least.

There hadn't been a national crisis to resolve for over two weeks. Frankly, it scared her a bit, and for some odd, presidential reason it caused her to lose focus occasionally. Today was one of those days… the entire family would be disappointed. Mackenzie frowned sadly at the depressing scene that tonight's dinner probably had been: Amy, whining and pouting; Becca, being sullen and rebellious, even more so than normal; Horace, playing it cool and putting on a happy face for Amy, but secretly hurt on the inside; Kate, worried for her daughter's sake and desperately attempting to be an optimist, like Horace; and Rod, if he had been there, would be sulking. Of course, no one at the table would know that, because he would also be joking and laughing.

Sometimes to Mackenzie it seemed like the entire family had their own facades. Amy had become so _quiet _recently, and being a mother, Mac guessed that all her young daughter wanted to really do was sink into her mom's lap and cry on her shoulder and be her best friend, at least for another four years. Becca, of course, was always hiding something. Mackenzie knew that her eldest daughter wasn't as upset about the presidency as she made out to be, and that for all of her fuss and angriness, only a quarter of it was genuine. She also knew, or at least had a motherly gut feeling, that the chunk of genuine rebel Rebecca was complex. Possibly even so complicated that Mackenzie would never figure it out. Bottled feelings could bite you in the butt, and she knew from experience.

She was losing focus again. Mackenzie didn't care worth beans, now that she was seriously analyzing her family. As she spun her swivel chair around to look out the Oval Office windows at the Washington night sky, Mac thought about Horace. Her only son had been a genuine John-John at the beginning of her Vice Presidency. A true Momma's boy, he had stood at Mackenzie's side through the campaign, the elections, the inaugurations, everything. Sometimes it was as though he was more supportive than Rod, the "Second Gentleman". Being a teenager, he naturally was never about to befriend Mom and spill his secrets and desires over a batch of cookies, but compared to Becca, Horace sure seemed a step away. While his sister simmered behind closed doors and threw herself into schoolwork and various rebel boys, he greeted his parents with cheerful Good Mornings and introduced every new girlfriend while lagging behind his schoolwork. Presumably Mackenzie and Rod were disappointed, but it wasn't as though Horace was failing and they knew that with time and patience their son could pull the straight C's up to A's and B's. Their relationship with him was still healthy, and being parents, they were grateful.

Naturally, it all fell apart.

It all began with one suggestion.


	2. Beginning of the End

The following takes place during the winter of the twins' sophomore year, while Mackenzie was vice president.

He had let procrastination get the best of him. Again. His entire two-week Christmas vacation had been spent in Connecticut with relatives up there. Grandma Kate attempted to the twins how to bake, but it had ultimately proved unsuccessful, seeing as Becca's brownies became permanently affixed to the baking pan and Horace's halfhearted try at gingersnaps nearly burned the house down. Amy, being a typical younger sibling, assisted Grandma in whipping up the best angel food cake New England had seen (the best in the country, of course, being the author's step-grandmother's version). The whole time, Horace didn't even start his World Civ. essay. He barely even _thought _about it, except for when his mom stopped him as he trotted downstairs to play Go Fish with Amy. "You've started on your essay, haven't you, Horace?" she asked seriously.

"I'll work on it tonight," he promised. That wasn't lying, was it? He never quite felt comfortable with not telling his parents the truth. In fact, the last time he'd lied to them was in the eighth grade, after he'd broken up with his first real girlfriend, Deanna. She was spreading awful rumors concerning him around the school, and naturally, Horace faked a migraine in order to be exempt from that day.

Now, it was eight at night on the absolute last day of break. He sat at his desk, tapping away furiously at his laptop while his new friend Robert lay sprawled on the bed, listening to heavy metal music so loudly that it was likely Becca could hear it in her room next door. Frankly, Horace found the screaming part of hardcore a tad disturbing and extremely irritating, especially at this particularly stressful moment. Under normal circumstances, he would have told Robert to stuff it, but they were supposed to see _Saw 4_ later with Joyce and Bianca, and Horace was dying to see the horror flick, no matter how gruesome and horrifyingly disgusting the other three had been.

Of course, the essay was due the next day.

Horace reviewed the paragraph he had written so far. "Here comes another F," he muttered to himself. For some freakish reason, Robert heard him over the tasteless music being pumped into his ears and sat up to look at Horace.

"Hey, you know you can buy that essay online."

_You can buy that essay online._

Horace didn't know it yet, but what Robert Haley said to him that night quite possibly changed his life… or, at least, his relationship with his parents. After surveying the website, the two boys selected what seemed to be an easy A. Being the spoiled son of business tycoon Mitch Haley, Robert always was armed with a credit card and instantly whipped it out when it came time to pay.

Horace was uneasy throughout the entire process. He knew that if he skived off this particular assignment, his C- would plummet to a D-, or likely a big, fat F. If he failed World Civ, there was no telling what his parents' reactions would be. Deep in his guilty gut, however, Horace knew that Mackenzie would never explode. She would stare at him in cold, stony disappointment, and he would lose her trust forever. On the other hand, Rod was known to have a hot temper. Horace had witnessed his father react to Rebecca's most recent boyfriend, Vernon. Just reflecting on that particularly memory caused him to shiver in spite of himself.

If the online essay were a success, his grade could easily be raised to a B, or possibly an A- by the end of the semester with the help of extra credit assignments, which were normally simple for the intelligent yet atrociously lazy Horace.

Robert expertly printed the essay (titled "North Korea's 'the Bomb'") and handed the warm papers to Horace, who shakily accepted them and inspected the text. "Thanks, Robert. I owe you one."

"No problem, man," replied Robert casually. "Let me hook you up with Linda tonight, and then we'll be even."

Horace's mouth turned up at the corners and was forming a grin when he repeated Robert's words in his mind. _Linda?_

"Wait, Robert, aren't we going to see that movie with Joyce and Bianca? I thought Linda was busy."

Instead of answering, Robert only chuckled.

"What?" asked Horace irritably.

"Horace, did you _seriously _think we were seeing that lame movie? Horror films are _so _out."

Personally, Horace thought Robert sounded a bit like Becca in his last comment. "…where are we going, then?"

"Shit, Horace, you never heard that Alex was having her party tonight?"

Ummm…no… 

Seeing his friend's confused expression, Robert broke into a huge cocky grin and slapped Horace on the back. "It'll be fun. Linda's amazing, you'll love her-"

The two boys were deathly quiet as noises downstairs drifted up to their ears.

"I _know _it's late, Rod!"

"Mac, this is the seventh time in a row!"

"For God's sake, it's not like I _asked _Templeton to interrupt the meeting and go on about his grandchildren-"

"For _six hours_? Jesus, Mackenzie, we finished dinner at 7:45. You said you would be home by seven, would it really be so difficult to tell Templeton to stuff it?"

"Rod, I'm not going to get into that, you know that I can't afford to tick him off any more!"

"Oh? And why's that? I'd love to hear your explanation."

"_Rod._"

"_Mackenzie._"

The two boys heard silence downstairs. Horace winced, sensing unrest in the home as his parents quarreling continued with icy, venomous stares. Was it something they learned in law school? Politicians always seemed to have evil eyes.

Robert laughed nervously. "I think your mom is home. Next stop, Alex's house?"

No matter how much he wanted out, Horace felt sick to his stomach when he remembered what had happened to his friend John when he arrived home drunk, high, and completely disoriented from a "wild, rockin' party". Attending one of those would equal going against his parents' wishes, and the perfect son would never be comfortable with that.

He remembered, though, the essay in his hands. _That _wasn't exactly honest, was it? Horace gently placed the essay on his desk, shut off the computer, and nodded. "Uh, that sounds like fun."

They trooped downstairs to find Mackenzie and Rod glaring at each other from across the kitchen table. Horace cleared his throat nervously. "M-Mom? We're… r-ready to take off-f…"

Mackenzie smiled. "Have fun, boys. Did you finish your essay, Horace?"

Here it was. Lie Number One. "Yeah."

"Can I see it?"

"It's on my desk," answered Horace, avoiding his mother's eyes. This was _much _harder than he had anticipated.

"Great!" Mackenzie beamed, and ascended the stairs to Horace's room.

Rod's gaze bored into his son's skull. "You can drive; you have your permit. Agent Lutz will accompany you, naturally."

"Of course," Horace replied, grimacing. Joseph Lutz was his secret service agent, everyone was glad he would be retiring at the end of the school year. Let's just say he was extremely intimidating… especially to his charges.

"All right… come home directly after the movie. Understood?"

"Yes, Dad."

"Great. Have fun, then." It wasn't necessary for Rod to question any further, seeing as Agent Lutz would be dogging his son's footsteps.

Horace, Robert, and Agent Lutz were piling into the car as Mackenzie neared her son's desk, anxious to see his work.

As soon as she read the bold title letters, her breath caught in her throat. _No_, she told herself. _Not Horace!_ Mac knew from her days as the chancellor at Richmond what online essays looked like. Even elite college students cheated, and she had seen this particular title too many times to not register it.

Never had she expected Horace to do something so drastic. She bit her lip and fought back frustrated tears, even though she knew that she would never actually cry. That wasn't in Mackenzie's nature.

What was she supposed to do now? Was Horace even going to see the movies? _Relax, Mackenzie, he has the secret service._ She knew she was being naïve, her kids were clever enough to evade their agents. But would Horace really lie to her face like that?

In the end, she let it slide. _Just this once._ Mackenzie didn't know it yet, but it was the just the beginning. Her trustworthy relationship with Horace was gone. She assumed it would never happen again, but how wrong she was.

**Sorry that so long. When I was writing Chapter 1, I still had no idea what the suggestion would be. I mulled it over for days, and I hope you enjoyed what I eventually came up with. Chapter 3 will be up shortly, I promise.It _will _get exciting.**


	3. Quality Time

_Disclaimer: As utterly awesome as that would be, I don't own Commander in Chief. Sorry. I wish I did… maybe it would have higher ratings. Who knows? Anyway, here we go with Chapter 3._

In the last chapter, we witnessed an argument between Mackenzie and Rod, and it made Rod appear to be the "bad guy". Don't worry, that's not how I intend to portray his character throughout the story. The following is a bit of "Rokenzie" (or Mackenrod, whichever you prefer) fluff.

Mackenzie walked slowly back downstairs, where Rod was sitting at the table, staring vacantly at absolutely nothing. She smiled, remembering full well the very day she met him, and how cute she found his vacant stare to be…

November 1984 (or something to that effect; presuming the pilot takes place in 2014):

_It all began with one suggestion. Doesn't everything?_

It wasn't quite a dark and stormy night… at least, not yet. In fact, it was barely noon, but the sun was hiding behind a thick layer of menacing grey clouds. The wind was unbelievably strong… so strong, in fact, that steel-bodied Mackenzie Allen was having trouble keeping warm under five layers of winter clothing and Superwoman skin as she quickly hurried to Duff and Deann's, her favorite coffee/sandwich shop within walking distance of the Yale campus. It was the day before Thanksgiving, which was by far Mackenzie's favorite holiday. The delicious food her mother would cook, the beautiful autumn color palette, the relatives, the patriotic spirit, and the break from her schoolwork all factored into a downright enjoyable time for the ambitious law student.

This year, Mac was waiting until the last possible moment to take off for her parents', as there were a few loose ends she needed to tie up at school before fizzling into full-fledged vacation mode. Everything was just about done when she decided to take a coffee break, seeing as her most recent intake of caffeine was over twenty-four hours ago. Mackenzie was an addict (as she often freely admitted).

The November "breeze" whipped at Mac's long red hair and she pulled her scarf tighter around her neck. Few sane pedestrians were out and about; save for the lame comedian in front of her pretending to be forced backwards by the heavy, wet winds. Mackenzie rolled her eyes and focused her eyes on the Duff and Deann's neon "Open" sign just over a block away.

Suddenly she heard the raucous _thud _of metal hitting concrete coming from behind her. Mac whipped her head around, only to find that the wind-battered clown had toppled over a nearby bench. _Smooth move… dork_, she thought ruefully, fighting back laughter. Mackenzie Allen never "giggled", but if she found something worth chuckling at… there was no telling how hilarious she would deem it or how hard she would guffaw.

"Are you laughing at me?" came the male voice from behind the bench. Suddenly a sandy-haired head popped up and eyed Mackenzie suspiciously. "You know, that wasn't very fu-"

She couldn't take it anymore. Peals of laughter escaped from between her clenched teeth before she could stop it and within seconds Mac was bent over clutching her abdomen. As soon as she regained control of herself, she wiped her eyes and glanced at him."Come on, that was undeniably hilarious and you know it. Besides, I'm not laughing _at _you…"

The boy on the ground glared at Mackenzie. "Help me up, will ya?"

As she pulled him into a standing position, she noticed that he was tall. _Very _tall. Being six feet herself, often Mac felt like a tree around her girlfriends and "just one of the boys" among men. This mystery guy, on the other hand… she hypothesized that he could easily rest his chin on the top of her head. Mackenzie blushed in spite of herself.

"Thank you," he said graciously, dusting himself off. "My name's Rod, in case you care to share this embarrassing tale with all of your friends."

Mac smiled mischeviously. "Oh, don't worry, I'll be very popular at parties after this," she paused. "Are you all right, Rod?"

"Well, ego is slightly bruised, but the rest of me seems to be intact."

"Do you have a last name, or do you fancy yourself marrying Cher?"

"Calloway. And I'd rather marry Cher than marry a smart-ass," he grinned to let her know he was joking. "What is _your_ name, my dear? Are you having an identity crisis?"

"Oh, be quiet, Rod. You're looking at Mackenzie Allen, also known as Mac to those closest to her. If you call her Kenzie, she can't be held responsible for her actions."

"Doesn't seem like she's close to anybody, seeing as Mackenzie talks about herself in the third person…"

Mac rolled her eyes. "Are you a student?"

"Oh, gee, of course not, I'm just wearing a brightly colored sweatshirt with _YALE_ _CLASS OF 1985 _plastered across the front for the heck of it."

Feeling her cheeks redden, Mackenzie opted for a quick cover-up. "Well, fellow sufferer, I'm heading down to that coffee shop over there. Why don't you join me? Or would you prefer to improve your crash landings?"

Rod laughed. Mac found herself loving his laugh, and she instantly cursed whatever gene gave her the red hair that resulted in obvious red cheeks and absolutely no ability to tan.

The pair walked in silence before reaching the end of the block, where the light was red. As they stood silently, waiting for the signal to change, Rod struck up a conversation. "I once knew a Mac…"

"Oh, really?" Mackenzie replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Yep… of course, it was a guy…"

"Rod!" she pushed him playfully.

"Hey! It's true, I swear," he said, holding up his hands. Suddenly he cocked his head and looked carefully at Mac. "Are you _flirting _with me?"

Mackenzie's cheeks turned a lovely shade of crimson. "I clearly remember you saying 'I would never marry a smart-ass.'"

"Hey, who's talking about marriage? We met two minutes ago."

She laughed. Mac and Rod stood in an awkward silence. The only sound was Mac stamping her feet against the cold. As soon as the light changed she welcomed the chance to move and warm up. Soon, however, she felt herself alone in the middle of the street.

Mackenzie turned around, only to see Rod still on the street corner, his eyes transfixed on a random patch of air. "ROD!" she yelled over the din of traffic. He glanced up quickly, embarrassed, and sprinted after Mac, who shook her head… a faint smile playing across her lips.

Pausing at the foot of the stairs, Mac smiled again at the memory. She cleared her throat, and began to speak, but was interrupted.

"You know, you _were _popular at parties after that," said Rod, turning his gaze to Mackenzie.

"Aww… Rod, you were remembering that too?"

He nodded. "I still have that sweatshirt, too."

Mackenzie wrinkled her nose. "Rod, I was under the impression that you got rid of that… so all these years I was living with the satisfaction that that sweatshirt was a heap of ashes…"

Rod laughed. "Sit down, Mac," he said, gesturing to the seat she had previously vacated.

She sat.

Rod stared at the ground.

"So," started Mackenzie. "I'm sure you'd love to hear about the Templeton encounter."

"Well, Mac, you suggested it. Do tell."

"Oh gosh, where do I begin? The closed-mindedness? The homophobia? The sexism? The arrogance? The prejudice? That conservative jackass…"

Rod nodded sympathetically and chuckled at the last comment. "Mac, the donkey is the symbol of the Democratic party. Democrats are generally known for being _liberal_…"

Mackenzie kicked him playfully. "See? Now you're being something I like to call a _smart-_ass."

"Ow," said Rod, wincing slightly. "I thought that's why you married me. _You're _the smart-ass. And also, Mac, don't wear heels when you kick me. Ouch."

"Would you rather I take them off and throw one at your head?"

"Ah, no thanks."

"Shall I continue with my story?" asked Mac, rolling her eyes. Now she remembered why she had fallen in love with him.

Rod nodded, still nursing his bruised shin.

"Basically, after the arguing, debating, lecturing, swearing, seething, grinding of teeth, rolling of eyes, bribing, insulting, and otherwise being political enemies… he said he wouldn't. Templeton won't support the Bridges Initiative. I was sent on that little excursion for absolutely nothing."

"Funny, I thought Templeton and Bridges were golf buddies," Rod mused. "That poker party Grace tried to invite you to… "

"… was the most ridiculous idea I've ever heard old Teddy come up with. Can you imagine me at a _poker party?"_

"Well, if we're talking about strip poker, that's a different story, but—"

Mac, who was still wearing her pointy heels, kicked Rod again in the same shin, causing him to moan in pain and rub the new bruise. When the throbbing subsided, he finished his sentence. "_But_ I think the thought of you playing strip poker with Templeton, Teddy, and Jim Gardner—"

Another kick, this one inflicting pain on the first bruise. (The author is sympathetic towards Rod, because bruises hurt like hell when someone kicks them again).

"All right, Mac, I'm guessing we fully agree here that this whole situation is too disturbing and disgusting to think about it," Rod paused, and then grinned and asked brightly, "Coffee?"

It was amazing, really, how without Mackenzie even answering, Rod knew exactly what she would have said. Before Mac could even utter the words "I'd love some", he had crossed the kitchen and retrieved the coffee.

There they sat. Silent, save for Rebecca's music upstairs. Minutes passed. To Mac, it felt as though an eternity had passed before she finally broke the ice.

"I hear Rebecca, but where's Amy?"

"You _do _realize that her bedtime is at eight-thirty…" Rod sighed. "I hate to say this, Mac, but the only time she's seen you lately is after you return from jogging and before you take off for the office. If all Bridges needs you for nowadays is grunt work, bribery, and covering for him when he suffers from a tragic golf accident, then… well, I'm not asking you to resign, but do you think there's room in your schedule to spend some quality time with the kids? Amy's only five. I mean…"

Mackenzie sighed sadly. "I know. I understand your point exactly. Isn't that why we went down to Mom's?"

Rod shook his head. "Unfortunately, that might not be enough."

Mac suddenly found herself feeling like she would burst into tears… again. Keeping her composure, she heard a small itch in the back of her mind. Did Horace feel that his mother's absence justified the procrastination and the forged essay? If Mackenzie had stuck around more frequently, would she have been able to read past the false smiles and fake reassurances?

_Not your fault_ was the mantra she repeated to herself in her head, to cover up the other voice, the louder one, the shouting in her mind that overtook the mere itch. It didn't work. Even though it couldn't be completely her fault…

_If you had stuck around more frequently, would you have been able to save your relationship with Becca?_

**Chapter 4 will definitely be up sooner than Chapter 3 was. After I finish that, the exciting, present-day climax of the story will arrive. Unless I'm sidetracked again.** **Cross your fingers and hope that I won't be.**


End file.
